You Have Been Weighed
by shootingstella
Summary: How dare they threaten to punish Tate for his crimes... that was her job! Colab with JandJSalmon for the AHS fic exchange.


Author's note: This was written for the AHS fic exchange.

The original prompt was from the lovely **mng042197 **for a story about Tate getting in trouble and Violet acting as his lawyer.

But when the original writer dropped out, Salmon asked me if i wanted to take a crack at it, adding that it might be interesting to try and write it canon, and instead of _a_ trial, it could be _the_ trial.

I fell in love with her idea and wrote this faster than anything I've ever written in my life.

It wound up winning Best Interpretation of the Prompt, but i refuse to put the banner on my profile until she puts it on hers too. This was a colab. I wrote it, but it wouldn't have existed with her fantastically twisty genius mind.

Also, if some can please write a Law and Order style slam-fest for mng042197, i wouldn't mind reading it either. XD

Read on.

* * *

It had been 36 years since the Harmon family died in the Murder House, and nothing much had changed within those four walls.

Outside however, the world raged on without them; wars and revolutions were fought, leaders came into power and were violently removed. The entire world was in flux and at the center of it there was one man; charismatic and compelling, but ruthless and power hungry who fed on every drop of tyranny and rebellion.

He had been born in Los Angeles, under unusual circumstances. His father was a dead boy and he killed his own mother on the way into the world.

He would kill the rest of them on his way out.

He had been raised by his grandmother, a woman who had lived through more pain and suffering then was ever intended for one woman.

When she died, she willed her estate to him and he used the majority of it to pay his way through UCLA as a theater major.

He excelled on stage with his perfect face; strawberry blonde curls and black eyes. He was unusual looking, not cookie-cutter handsome and that got him a lot of attention. He got picked up by an agent quickly and started making decent money with guest spots and commercials, but each time the clapboard slammed closed, he felt the bile rising in his throat.

Each pretentious waste of space that flitted around him; offering him a role, or a or a ten dollar bottle of water or a blow job made him ill.

Many in his situation would have abandoned college, lived the easy life while it was an option, but he returned every morning, hungry for more information about the bigger matters of the world.  
When he dropped his acting classes, his professors were heartbroken. He didn't care, he knew all they saw in him was a success story; a dedication in an autobiography or a mention in Soap Opera Digest.

He signed up for new classes mid semester, against the better judgment of his advisor, but he ignored her; he knew he would have no trouble catching up.

He took Political Science, Growth of Government, Dissection of the Fall of Rome, and Introduction to Law.

He read Marx and Nietzsche like they were children's book. Mein Kamph was a personal favorite of his and he spoke about Communist dictators like they were old friends.  
Maybe they were.

He was twenty one now and he finally felt like he was doing something worthy of his time.

He acted here and there, for the money, but he devoted most of his time to an internship at the Mayor's office.

The internship turned into a full time job in a matter of months. He was known around the office as the go-to-guy for handling difficult public relation problems. If a woman came in outraged about being ignored in traffic court, he put her at ease by looking into her eyes for a little too long. It seemed innocent enough but when he feigned being flustered; she was usually too flattered to remember what she was complaining about. When a new contractor came in, complaining about the city ordinances that were interfering with his new project, all it took was an anecdote, a quip about fighting the man and a firm handshake to send him on his way with a new found appreciation for his city's local government.

His coworkers praised him for being so understanding, for being able to speak to the real heart of the matter and put people at ease. He waved off their flattery, chocking it up to his short lived days as an actor, but in reality, he knew it went much deeper than that.

You can't truly hate something, without understanding it; everything about it.

How it operates. How it reacts. What it expects. What it hopes to accomplish.

And one thing was for sure; Michael Langdon understood every facet of the human race.

* * *

The Harmons lived through the first twenty odd years of their ghostly existence without knowing much about Michael. Although his birth was a bit of a sore subject, he had been the only one of them to make it out alive, and they would have been proud to learn that he had made something of himself.

Violet was the one who first discovered what was becoming of her baby brother. She unfolded her morning paper, an edition that the current residents of the house frequently complained about not receiving, and upon reading the headline, whispered 'bullshit' into the empty attic.

**Michael Langdon Leading the Polls**

She ran to her parents who were sitting quietly in what used to be the nursery, only half aware of their situation or surroundings.

Of the Harmons, Violet had maintained the most lucidity through the years. She stayed up to date with current events and fiddled with the new electronics that the residents brought into the house.

She refused to become Nora; she refused to become her mother. She would not become so fixated on one thing that she let the rest of the world slip away.

She left the nursery after several failed attempts to get her parents to understand what the newspaper was saying; who it was talking about.

Maybe it wasn't worth it; disrupting their somewhat peaceful existence; after all, this would only drag up old memories.

She had to tell someone though; this wasn't the kind of thing she could keep all to herself.

She knew who would care. She knew who she wanted to tell, but she still refused to address him directly.

She smirked to herself as she got an idea and climbed back upstairs to the attic.

"Beau!" she called, "Beau, come out! I want to read you a story. It's about little Michael."

Beau appeared on his bed, happy for the attention, and she focused diligently on him as she read the article, recounting in a dramatic voice Michael's academic achievements and his speedy ascent through state government.

She read his quotes in a deep voice; the things he said made him sound so well educated. He had gotten to go to college, discussed thoughts and ideas with professors and colleagues; she was so proud of him.

She smiled to Beau when she finished, and left the newspaper on the foot of his bed before heading back down the stairs.

She knew that Tate had heard her reading, and she knew that he might like to hold onto the newspaper. It was the first act of kindness that she had showed him since before she sent him away.

She continued keeping a look out for Michael's name in the paper and reading to Beau became a more regular occurrence after Michael won the election.

After Michael announced that he would be tossing his hat in the ring for the next presidential primary, she screamed out loud with excitement.

Out of instinct, he showed up in the kitchen behind her asking if she was okay.

She forgot how much she hated him, and read the article out loud, to his face, for the first time since their little arrangement started.

"Oh that's crazy, I didn't even know he was in politics," he said with a sly kind of smile.

She rolled up the newspaper and hit him in the arm with it.

She maintained, in her mind at least, that she wasn't forgiving him.

Interactions were inevitable after all this time, and she was angry but she refused to be cruel.

Maybe if they had had more time, she would have stepped away from her grudge even further. Maybe she would have even taken him back, after half of that eternity they had been promised had slipped away.

But it didn't seem like she were going to get that chance.

* * *

The articles she read increased in number exponentially as he ran for and was elected President of the United States; there were so many that some days he insisted she let him read to her and Beau for a change.

She allowed it and tried not to look too pleased, but he had such a soothing voice.

She laid back on the bed next to Beau and listened to him tell her about the alliances her baby brother was forming with world leaders and the quips he made at his Vice President's expense.

Once they got past the first 100 days of his presidency, a massive milestone in American government, no matter how soothing Tate's voice was, it couldn't hide the scathing tone and ominous points that editorial writers and even fact driven journalists were making about Michael.

The things he did were becoming less diplomatic, and more totalitarian.

He was being portrayed as a monster in the majority of the media but seemed to have Capitol Hill wrapped around his finger.

He was making alliances with countries whose intentions were not in the American people's best interest.

He was inspiring riots and uprisings from those who he was supposed to be protecting and glimpses into his personal opinions were painting him as a blood thirsty war monger.

* * *

When he had two years left in office and he was being met equally with demands for impeachment and an abolishment of term limits.

The mood of Tate and Violet's reading sessions dropped dramatically because after a few months, they ran out of uplifting explanations for what they were reading. They were past the point of saying 'everyone is entitled to an opinion' or 'they've obviously miss-quoted him'.

It was the end of his third year in office when Violet risked a bit of small talk, "Do you think that if something happens, to the world I mean, do you think we'll be able to cross over?"

He looked up at her and sighed, "How do you know we haven't crossed over already?"

"You can't honestly believe that this is it?" she said.

"You think I'd still have my beliefs about a better place, but to be honest, I've given up on all that bullshit."

She looked at him, disgust boiling back up inside her for the first time in a long time. Tate was nothing without his convictions. He was a common criminal without his moral high ground, and it made her ill.

She neglected him with her newspapers for the next few days and she was glad she had broken off their arrangement, because the news was circling the drain.

Nuclear stand-offs and threats of demolishing entire continents. No one was safe and she ached to see the condition of the world outside these walls. The house had been abandoned for some time, she didn't even have one family to watch, to gauge the severity of the situation.

She thought more often about what might happen to them if the world really ended.

She thought about it right up until the moment when the wave of white hot light rolled through North America, setting off that pesky Mad Pact chain reaction, and leaving no one behind to deal with the after math.

* * *

The next time Violet opened her eyes she clasped her hand back over them and screamed "Fuuuccck!"

She was sitting in the waiting room outside of the Principal's office. She tried to wrap her mind around her new location and why in the world she was here now.

A name was called over the PA system and the girl sitting across from her shrugged and rose from her seat.

She walked into the Principal's office but never walked out; even though several other names had been called and a student entered each time.

Violet waited impatiently for her turn, assuming that would be the end game of this situation and that at least when that happened, she would get some answers.

* * *

"Violet Harmon," the speaker boomed directly over her head after what seemed like hours. She rose; smoothed out the skirt of her dress and squared her shoulders before stepping through the door.

What she found was not what she expected.

The room in front of her was nothing like the Westfield Principal's office; it was glowing softly although no source of the illumination could be seen.

The man sitting behind the desk had a straggly gray beard and an old pair of glasses which he was constantly removing and replacing as his eyes scanned through a file in front of him.

"Ahh, Violet, have a seat dear," he gestured to the chair in front of him and reached for a cup of what looked like coffee.

His hand missed the mug handle and he knocked it over, spilling it over his desk and Violet had to hop out of the way to avoid the steaming hot river that was making its way for her lap.

"Clumsy, clumsy, clumsy," he muttered under his breath. He brought his palms against the surface of his desk twice in quick succession and Violet watched with wide eyes as the hot coffee helped itself back into his mug.

She sat back down warily without taking her eyes off the man in front of her, as he began to flip though her file again.

"Hmmm, swearing. So much swearing. Smoking, but that isn't really a sin I suppose. Being disrespectful to your parents, although there's a foot note on that one … oh Ben Harmon! Never mind then."

Violet's mouth hung open and the corners of her mouth threatened to pick up.

"Hmmm, premarital sex, that one isn't such a big deal anymore, and it says here that you only avoided necrophilia by a few days. Lucky girl. That's a much more serious offense you know."

She nodded, mouth still open wide.

"Oh you killed yourself, that's a shame. It was an accident so we won't be too hard on you, but it cannot be taken lightly."

Violet nodded, finally closing her mouth and taking a swallow of air.

"Where am I?" she managed to squeak out.

"You're at a processing center dear. After the Apocalypse, there were far too many casualties to handle the old fashioned way, so we're dividing and conquering. I was pulled off my usual shift at the library to help out. I figured I may as well take the overtime while I can."

Violet nodded, trying to comprehend his small talk.

"But anyway, we're weeding through mediocre souls here and filtering the real sinners and the saints to the big guys upstairs."

"Oh," Violet said, as though this sentence were perfectly pedestrian. "Where will I go now?"

"You'll probably do a short stint in purgatory, but then you'll go on to heaven. How does that sound?"

"Fine I guess…." She was confused and couldn't help thinking of all the times she rationalized that the Murder House was purgatory.

"Well then you are free to go." He gestured to a gray door on the opposite side of his office so she rose from her seat and headed over.

"Oh! Fruit salad! Wait! You're on my list!"

She spun around to face him again, "What list?" she asked, knowing that no answer would shock her after what she had already seen.

"You were involved with a boy during your life… Tate Landon"

"Langdon" she corrected.

"Yes, well whatever. His soul requires further assessment, and we've got sort of a courtroom set-up going on. Everyone else is down there waiting for you."

"Down whe-" Violet didn't get a chance to finish her question because the floor collapsed out from underneath her and she landed in another room, seated in between Chloe Stapleton and Patrick.

"Mother fuc-"

She started but was interrupted again, "All Rise for the Honorable Saint Peter!" a disembodied voice bellowed.

She rose along with everyone else in the room and watched as a small man with glasses and gray hair, much more polished and professional looking than the man she had dealt with previously, came through a door and climbed into the judge's box at the head of the room.

He tapped his gavel. "This court is now in session, please be seated and come to order."

The room fell back into their seats and Violet began to take in her surroundings; she was sitting in the audience of a massive court room with high vaulted ceilings and no windows. The wall to her left was lined with two benches that held twelve unfamiliar faces. The jury she assumed.

This whole thing was so surreal that she wondered if maybe she was dreaming.

Although, that wasn't likely because on the rare occasion she did dream, she only dreamt of him.

"The court calls the case of The Angels versus Tate Langdon, case number 239732."

Violet's mouth hung open and she turned her head to the back of the court room just in time to see Tate walk in through the back doors.

So maybe it was a dream.

She really didn't like admitting to herself how glorious he looked; blonde curls hanging over his dark eyes, mildly amused smirk on his face, hands cuffed in front of him and his converse sneakers peeking out from the hem of a prison jump suit.

He was sincerely surprised and it looked good on him. He caught her eye as he approached the bench, escorted by a husky guard, and he raised his eyebrows at her as if to say, "Will you get a load of this shit?"

The guard brought him to a stop a few feet away from Saint Peter, who looked down his nose at Tate and examined him for a moment before speaking.

"Tate Langdon, you are being charged with seventeen counts of murder, and one count each of rape, arson and sodomy; along with one unprecedented count of spawning the antichrist. How do you plead?"

"Apologetic?"

"Guilty or not guilty?"

"Criminally insane."

Saint Peter huffed and folded his hands, giving Tate a look that Violet read as 'please cut the shit.'

"Not guilty."

A loud and sudden puff of laughter came from the back of the room and Violet turned to see Larry covering his mouth.

Violet scowled at him. She knew what Tate meant and she couldn't help but smile knowing that he had somehow managed to find his convictions again.

He was not denying his actions, he was denying his regret and that was the real Tate.

He had done horrible things in his lifetime, but he had never acted out of malice; only detachment, maybe a touch of insanity, and a truckload of the best intentions.

"Alright then, the prosecution will speak first and will be represented by Serephina."

A woman with a face like a snake and hair pulled into a too tight bun rose from the desk on the left and turned to face the audience. She attempted a smile.

Saint Peter looked at her with unabashed distaste and moved on, "The defense will speak second. Mister Langdon do you plan on representing yourself during these proceedings, or is there someone here who can speak in your defense?"

Tate cocked his head to the side, "They're not exactly lining up, sooo yea I guess."

"I must warn you, that you are placing yourself at a serious disadvantage without a representative. Do I need to remind you of what is at risk here?"

Tate nodded petulantly.

"If the jury finds you guilty Mister Langdon, you will be damned to Hell to pay for your crimes. So I highly recommend you select someone to help you make your case."

Violet felt her blood boiling as she sat in the audience. How dare he threaten to punish Tate for his sins; that was her job.

Tate huffed, "Alright," he said turning around to face the crowd, made up entirely of the people he had hurt and wronged and in more than one case murdered during his existence, "Any volunteers?" His request sunk like a stone into the silent room.

He turned back around almost immediately knowing there wasn't a soul in the room who would come to his rescue.

Tate Langdon was damned.

"See, I'm not exactly on good terms with-"

The murmur rolling through the crowd interrupted him, he turned around and his jaw dropped when he saw a single hand in the air.

Her other hand was supporting her head which hung down into her lap.

"Violet."

It was a barely audible whisper but as it left his lips she picked up her head and met his eyes with hers.

She shook her head and sighed as she rose from her seat, ignoring her mother's scowl and Chad's attitude.

She stood next to him, and addressed the judge, "I'll defend him, a little," she scowled at him but couldn't hold her harsh expression for long because he was looking at her, slack jawed, wide eyed and grateful.

"Very well," Saint Peter nodded in approval, "Will you be needing a brief recess to corroborate yourstories?"

Violet shook her head, "No I've heard it all before"

"Alright then."

Tate and Violet took their seats behind the desk on the right side of the room and waited for the prosecution to collect their things.

"They have files," Tate whispered. "How come we don't have files?"

"We're gonna need a lot more than files," Violet murmured back.

"The prosecution calls Larry Harvey to the stand," The snake woman said in a sharp tone.

Larry almost skipped up to the front of the court room, taking his seat in the witness box.

"Scum bag has been looking forward to this moment all his life," Tate whispered.

"Will you shut up?" Violet snapped back at him and he zipped his lips with his fingers, giving her a tight mouthed smile before tossing the invisible key over his shoulder.

"Missster Harvey," the woman even hissed her S's like a snake. "Which of Tate Langdon's offenses did you suffer from, personally?"

"The arson," Larry said, gesturing to the left side of his body. Larry had been dead for years, you would have thought if he was going to appear as a ghost or a witness or whatever he was at the moment, he would have pulled himself together a little better. "He drenched me in gasoline and struck a match."

"Do you know his motivation for lighting you on fire?"

"Not entirely, but one can never fully understand the mind of a psychopath. I was his step father, and I believe he resented me for interfering with his family. He accused me of killing his brother."

"You did-!" Tate rose from his seat, but Violet tugged him back into his chair.

"You will have your chance to speak Mister Langdon, please try to control yourself until then."

Tate was seething.

"Although Mister Harvey, in this situation we are past petty lies. We know you killed Beauregard Langdon. We summoned you from Hell for this trial."

Larry conceded with a nod, "Ah yes, true. Old habits I guess."

Tate's smile took over his whole face when he heard that Larry had been condemned to Hell for killing his brother and for the other countless crimes he had committed.

"Do you feel that killing his brother in anyway, justified Mister Langdon's actions towards you?"

"No," said Larry, "But I don't harbor any ill will against him. Compared to the Hell fires I am subjected to daily, his little stunt was barely a drop in the bucket."

"So you don't think he should be punished?"

"Oh no, I absolutely think he should be. He needs to be held accountable for his actions, so much more severe and brutal than mine ever were."

The jury murmured amongst themselves and Violet's forehead connected with the desk.

"Would the defense like to cross examine the witness?" Saint Peter asked, rousing Violet from her defeatist state.

She looked up at Larry, smirking at her with the good side of his mouth and she stood up, enraged.

"You bet your ass I do."

Saint Peter cleared his throat, put off by her crudeness.

"I think he prefers, 'his honorable ass'," Tate whispered as she walked past him to approach Larry.

She smirked before turning her attention to the witness.

"Ironic, don't you think, the way Tate set you on fire for your sins all those years ago, and now here you are, spending eternity paying with more flames."

"I suppose you could call it ironic," Larry mused.

"I think I'd rather call it fitting…. Very fitting."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well because of what happened to your family, after you left them?"

Larry became silent.

She turned to address the jury, "You all may not be familiar with this piece of the story, but Larry was an adulterer too. He cheated on his wife and betrayed his family with Tate's mother.

"When he demanded that Lorraine, his beautiful wife, take the children and leave their home, she very understandably snapped. He was planning on moving his new family in, and forgetting about his old one. Throwing them away like yesterday's news.

"I don't agree with Lorraine's drastic actions but I understand them. She put her kids to bed and set them all ablaze. They died, in vein hopes that Larry would have to live with what he did, and come to know regret in time. But when Tate found himself living down the hall from the very room they died in, before their bodies were even cold, he took matters into his own hands."

Tate stared slack jawed at Violet as she painted him as the hero of the story; did she really feel this way, or did she just pity his poor damned soul?

"Those scars were never supposed to make you think of yourself, Lawrence. They were there to remind you of the pain you inflicted on the people who loved you. You're a disgrace. No further questions."

Violet threw her hands up in the air and stomped back to her seat next to Tate.

He put his hand on her thigh when she sat down. It was the first time he had touched her since they said goodbye, so many years ago, in a whole other world. She sighed and put her hand over his, squeezing it gently.

"That was the easy one," she whispered, and he nodded.

She had never really been angry about Larry. She actually felt a little proud of what he did, for his brother and for Larry's family. He had given them what closure he could offer, and even though Lorraine was still a mess afterwards, she was always kind to Tate around the house. She appreciated what he had done. He had made someone else feel her pain.

The Judge dismissed Larry, who disappeared from the witness box in a snap of ignition and left behind a cloud of thick black smoke.

"Good riddance," he mumbled under his breath, before clearing his throat and addressing the prosecutor again. "Serephina, call your next witness."

She nodded and opened her file, "The prosecution calls Patrick – Patrick…." She rifled through the pages in front of her for a moment, before sighing, "The prosecution calls Patrick."

Tate rolled his eyes dramatically at Violet as Patrick walked by and she swatted the hand that was still resting on her thigh.

"So Patrick, which of Mister Langdon's offenses were directed towards you?"

"One of the murder counts, and the um, the sodomy," he coughed and the jury responded with an unfortunate sound.

Tate scowled at them, "I used a fire poker!" he exclaimed like that would fix it.

"That doesn't make it better, sweetie," Violet whispered.

"It does for me. I don't want them to think I'm gay. That's a sin right?"

"I don't know anymore," she slammed her head back onto the desk again, hoping an idea would come to her.

"Horrible acts," Serephina mused, "The violence and the depravity really speak for themselves, but just for curiosity's sake, do you know of Mister Langdon's motivation for committing these crimes?"

Patrick took a deep breath, "Me, and my partner, Chad."

Chad rolled his eyes when Patrick gestured to him.

"We were going to adopt a baby. Coincidentally, Tate was on a mission to get a baby for the lady of the house, so he was planning to kidnap and murder the child we adopted. When we started fighting, we decided children wouldn't be a smart move. Once we were no longer of any use to him, he murdered us both, to make way for a new family that would fit his needs."

"Now as I understand, the dynamic of the house has trapped your souls there, for the past forty something years?"

Patrick nodded.

"So not only did he kill you, but he trapped you in an unhappy marriage for any foreseeable eternity?"

Patrick nodded again, "I was about to leave when he killed us…"

Chad stood up from his seat, "I don't have to sit here and listen to this again."

He stormed out of the room and Patrick stood up, reaching his hand after him, calling for him to wait as the door slammed shut.

"Murdered, sodomized, and trapped in an unhappy and unholy union. Physical and emotional torture; nice touch, Mister Langdon."

Tate stared sadly into the bare table in front of him, unable to make eye contact with anyone.

"No further questions your honor."

Serephina returned back to her seat; looking pleased with herself and her argument.

Violet didn't care for her smug bitch face.

"Would the defense like to cross examine the witness?"

Violet nodded and rose slowly, feeling a bit of emotional exhaustion overtake her, but she pushed it away.

"You care about him don't you?"

Patrick nodded sullenly.

"You weren't going to insult him before he ran out, you were just stating the facts. That before you died, you had been prepared to leave."

Pat nodded again.

"In all the years that you were trapped together 'unhappily', did you ever, reconcile?"

Pat tipped his head to the side, lips pressed tight together, not quite sure what the honest answer was.

"In small ways?" Violet prompted.

Pat nodded with confidence this time.

"Do you love him?"

Pat ventured a spoken answer this time, "Yes." It was a whisper but it was enough for Violet to work with.

"I know for a fact that he loves you."

Pat hung his head, looking rather ashamed of himself.

"The things that you did that hurt him, they never had anything to with him did they?"

Pat looked up, suddenly hopeful.

"Those were your problems, your issues, and you never wanted to hurt him; but you couldn't control yourself."

Patrick was nodding emphatically, "Yes! I wasn't ready for the level of commitment he wanted. I was still a mess."

"Do you think, that maybe, if the two of you had longer in the house; the curse of eternity that you were promised, that you would have gotten over your bullshit and the two of you would have worked it out?"

Pat nodded again, the trace of a smile on his face.

"You could have been happy again?"

Pat's smile turned sad, "I think so."

"I think so too," Violet sighed. "No further questions," she said as she returned to her seat.

Tate was staring at her, mouth hanging open dumbly, not quite sure what he had just heard, what he had been meant to hear.

This time Violet placed her hand on his thigh while they waited for the next witness to be called.

Saint Peter cleared his throat, "Prosecution, please call your next witness."

Serephina huffed as Patrick stepped down from the stand, dewy eyed and hurrying to the back door, undoubtedly to catch up with Chad.

"The prosecution calls Kyle Greenwell."

Tate was still slightly mesmerized by Violet's hand on his leg. His fingers rested over hers and she wasn't flicking him away.

Kevin approached the stand; the bullet hole in his chest did nothing to interfere with the cocky swagger he had been using since high school.

"So Kyle, you were a high school senior when your life came to a sudden and violent end?"

Violet had heard this spiel before, on Halloween a lifetime ago and then some.

It was the same after all this time, the pain of lost opportunities, his noble attempt to save his girlfriend and the state of their anguished souls, doomed to spend their eternity without an apology or even an explanation.

When the time came to cross examine the witness, Violet had nothing.

She leaned over to whisper in his ear, "I can't defend your actions this time, but you can explain them."

Tate's expression was that of a small child, facing a doctor with a massive syringe.

He began shaking his head manically,

"Tate!" she gave him a stern look, "This is the only chance you'll ever have to set this right."

She barely gave him a chance to react, before she was standing up and addressing the judge.

"Your honor, there is nothing I can say."

Serephina smirked at Tate from the other side of the room; she thought she had won.

He stood up next to Violet and he felt her sigh in relief once she knew he was going to go through with it.

"But Tate would like to take this opportunity to address his victims."

Violet crumbled back into her chair, the exhaustion finally winning out.

Her face rested in her hands as she waited him to start speaking.

"I'm - I'm so sorry."

The relief that washed over Kevin's face flickered and then disappeared completely as Tate went on to clarify that he wasn't sorry for what he did.

Violet reached up and took his hand in hers, her face settled firmly into the crook of her elbow lying across the desk.

"I'm sorry because your fate wasn't something I expected. I thought the house was a loophole, I didn't intend for you to all get stuck too. That's not what I wanted for you."

"What did you want for us?" Kevin asked, the courtroom disappeared and the only energy Violet could feel around her was Tate, Kevin and the four other teenagers scattered through the audience.

"I wanted you to be happy, and safe, and free from the horrible world that we lived in. I knew that what I was doing was wrong. I believe in heaven and so I believe in Hell. I knew that's where I would have gone if it hadn't been for the house. But if I hadn't had the house, I would have done it anyway, because it would have been worth it in my mind. And I guess it still is. I'm sorry it took so long, but we're all moving on and we're all getting what we deserve, so you can rest now."

Violet was grateful that her face was hidden because tears were running down her cheeks onto the desk. Her knuckles were pressed white, wrapped around Tate's hand.

"Indeed," was all Saint Peter said, before banging the gavel and sending Kevin and the other four members of the dead breakfast club away, in a quick flash of light that left the smell of ozone behind.

Tate sat back down quietly, waiting for Violet to look at him, but she didn't. She didn't move.

A recess was called and everyone filed out of the courtroom, the audience out the back door and the judge and the jury both to private quarters. Tate and Violet remained seated.

They sat in silence for a few minutes until Violet picked her head up let go of Tate's hand, wiping the wetness from her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly but it echoed in the big empty room.

She shook her head "I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay, we'll talk about something else," he said pressing his lips together and she nodded.

"Why did you say that? About Chad and Patrick?" he thought he was being smooth.

"Because it was true," she said simply. "Forever is long enough for everything to happen at least once."

He nodded, "Why did you volunteer to defend me?"

"I don't think anyone deserves to burn in Hell for eternity. Especially..."

"Especially what?" he was asking as she drifted off.

"Nothing."

"What?"

"Nothing!" she stressed the word.

"Tell me," he urged like a child.

She squeezed her eyes shut in exasperation and prepared to yell at him, but he was too quick.

He pressed his lips into hers before she could protest or call him stupid or kiss him first.

A bell rang through the court room and Violet pulled her lips away from Tate's just as the back door opened and the audience filed back in.

She concentrated on her thumbs as they twiddled in her lap and he tried not to look so happy, as a smile seemed out of place for his situation.

Saint Peter called the court back to order and Serephina rose from her seat.

"The prosecution calls Vivien Harmon to the stand."

Violet buried her face in her hands; this had been inevitable.

Vivien took the stand slowly, giving Violet a look that her bowed head couldn't see, and Tate was thankful for that.

Violet sat stock still for the entire time Vivien spoke. Serephina was not blind to the girl's reaction and she was exploiting it every chance she got. She had Vivien recount each and every ounce of pain that Tate Langdon had inflicted on her.

When Violet thought the snake had finally finished, she spun on her heel and addressed Vivien one more time.

"And what are your thoughts on today's turn of events; your daughter, Mister Langdon's former lover, now acting as defender?"

Violet had found the strength to look up and meet her mother's eyes, but Vivien didn't return her stare.

"I don't have a daughter," she said simply.

Cold.

Devoid of all emotion.

And Violet broke.

She collapsed on the desk again, sobbing violently.

Tate tried to rub her shoulder but she shook him off.

"I'm assuming the defense will not be cross examining this witness..." Saint Peter inquired.

Tate shook his head and Vivien was free to go. She walked straight out of the courtroom, past Violet without even acknowledging her.

Violet continued to sob as Serephina announced that the prosecution would rest.

"Would the defense like to call a witness?" Saint Peter asked.

Violet picked her head up off the table, her eyes and nose were red but she swallowed her sobs for long enough. "I call myself?" she asked, which earned her a double take from both Tate and judge, but her request was approved and she walked slowly to the witness box.

Tate looked to her for instruction but she just shook her head. She scooted forward in the chair and leaned her elbows on the lip of the box, cradling her head in her hands as though it were something fragile.

"When I was alive, Tate and I were... dating? We made out in the basement more than anything. I had, a lot of petty problems in my life, shit like my parents and bullies and my haunted house and not being able to really trust my boyfriend. Not really, as much as I wanted to, there were too many things," she was crying again and looking straight into Tate's eyes. "Like that thing with Leah, and the dead kids on Halloween. Then I found out you were a ghost and how you had died! I was overwhelmed so I took some sleeping pills, and then I took some more and it was an accident but I killed myself."

She directed her attention back to the jury. "But he tried to save me! Even though he knew that if he just let me die I would be trapped in the house with him through no fault of his own. It was the most selfless act I had ever seen from him, from anyone. I still didn't know I was dead, and he spent the next few weeks trying to protect me, he even tried to get me to commit suicide again," she stopped crying to release a puff of broken morbid laughter, "Willingly," she continued, "Because, he thought that maybe if I had chosen to die, I wouldn't be so sad. But it didn't work and I found out what I had done, and then I found out what he had done. He did things that made me hate him, but-"

She stopped, looking back into his teary eyes.

"I thought we had more time!" she yelled in frustration, begging for him to understand all of a sudden. He nodded, because he knew what she was saying. She was confirming what he had spent the last thirty six years reassuring himself of; that all he needed to do was wait for her.

She turned back to the jury one last time, "He was a monster, but that hasn't been him in a long time."

She stepped down from the stand, casting Serephina a glance, but the woman had no questions for her and motioned for her to take her seat. So she trudged back to her table, ignoring the option of her own seat and falling into Tate's lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his neck. He held onto her so tight, trying to squeeze their false eternity out of this moment.

"I knew it was only a matter of time before you loved me again." He whispered into the top of her head.

"I always loved you," she sobbed, as Saint Peter pounded the gavel and dismissed the jury, sending them away to deliberate.

* * *

The jury had only disappeared into their little room for a few minutes before they were reemerging with their verdict. Violet tore herself away from Tate so they could stand. She clung to his hand as his charges were read again.

"Tate Langdon, on the count of arson, you have been found guilty."

She pulled his arm into her chest.

"On the counts of rape and sodomy, you have been found guilty."

She brought his knuckles to her lips as she released a broken sob.

"On the count of spawning the antichrist, you have been found guilty."

Tate found it hard to hold back his amused smile, but he managed. It would have been inappropriate.

"On the seventeen counts of murder, you have been found guilty."

She cried out and pressed herself against his chest.

"Tate Langdon you have been found guilty on all counts and are hereby sentenced to eternal damnation."

Violet suddenly pulled herself away from him and spun around, slamming both her hands onto the desk. "No!" she shouted.

"Excuse me Miss Harmon?"

"That's bullshit and I don't accept it!"

"This is not a matter of whether or not you accept it-"

"I want to make a deal!"

"Violet don't be stupid!" Tate tried to pull her away but she resisted.

"I have an eternity in heaven. I'm putting it on the table! What can he get for it?"

"I don't quite think you understand how this works."

"People make deals with the devil all the time. Let me make one _for_ him!"

The murmurs from the audience behind them fell on her deaf ears.

She didn't care about anything besides saving Tate.

"I have an eternity in Heaven, and you gave him an eternity in Hell. Send us both to purgatory! I don't care what it is! I don't care! I don't care just don't send him to Hell."

"Your request in noble Miss Harmon, but unfortunately, you do not have a full eternity in heaven to offer."

"What?" she said.

"You are slated to do a short stint in purgatory after this hearing."

"It's negligible!" she shouted.

"Most things are when you compare them to forever, but it still needs to be taken into consideration."

"That's how long I'll spend in Hell!" Tate spoke up from behind Violet, startling everyone the room including the judge; although, he didn't seem to be rejecting their offer.

"Miss Harmon, do you have any idea what you are surrendering for the sake of this criminal?"

Violet looked him straight in the eye, "Absolutely."

"You are surrendering your eternity. Not a fragile forever dependent on the survival of your species, but an everlasting one."

Violet nodded, "I understand completely. Let me do this!"

Saint Peter ruffled the papers on his desk and tapped the gavel to silence the commentary from the audience and even the jury at this point.

"Alright. Fine."

Violet squealed and jumped into Tate's arms. He picked her up and whispered in here ear, "Are you sure?"

"Tate Langdon, you will pay for Violet Harmon's sins in Hell and then move on to purgatory."

She pulled her face away from his to respond, but in a flash, he was gone, and she was left clinging to the smoke that hung in the air.

"Violet Harmon, are sentenced to an eternity in purgatory. He tapped the gavel again and before she could open her mouth to speak she was gone.

* * *

It felt like hours before she could open her eyes again. She laid still, with them screwed shut, using only her palms at her sides to feel out her situation. She was laying on something. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it certainly wasn't fluffy clouds.

She had lost the chance to ask so many questions; would their purgatory even be the same purgatory? She didn't know how things like this worked. How long would his sentence even be? How much time does an accidental suicide and a mouth full of profanity get a girl? She had no clue.

When she finally found the courage to open her eyes, she found herself torn between laughing, and screaming out loud. She was lying in her own bed, staring up at The Murder House ceiling.

She stayed put that day, not daring to let her feet touch the floor. But after hours of doing nothing but dwelling on recent events, she decided exploring her surroundings might be best.

She examined each room of the house and found everything exactly where it had been left.  
The only thing missing were the residents.

She climbed to the basement but couldn't even find Thaddeus. She wondered what became of his soul, if he even had one.  
The doors and windows didn't open; the range of the house had been shrunk and the possibility of outside had been discarded.

She thought of Tate constantly.

She wished she knew how long he would be spending in Hell.

She wished she could be counting down, when instead she had to count up. She had no real way of measuring time, but each time she found herself waking up, she added another scratch to the attic wall.

Some days she stepped back and stared at the wall and cried for him. She would fall to the floor and sit in a pile and weep until she found herself waking up again and adding another scratch.

Sometimes she would smile and think to herself, 'okay, that's had to have been enough,' and then she would spend the day walking through the empty halls calling his name.

On rare days she engraved the tic into the wall with ferocity. "Let him fucking stay there. I spent almost forty years in this house suffering because of his sins, he can spend another week in Hell for mine."

But today she just stepped back and admired her work. One hundred and five tally marks. She especially liked the days when she was able to cross out a group of five.

"That's okay," she muttered to herself as she climbed back down the attic stairs.

"I'll wait forever if I have to."

* * *

She didn't have to wait much longer after that.

The next morning she rolled over in bed and collided into something warm.

"Please," she whispered under her breath, before slowly opening her eyes.

There he was. Arm thrown over his eyes, lips pressed tight together.

"Tate?" she whispered.

He sat straight up in the bed, and she scrambled to sit up across from him.

His eyes were still closed, but his lips parted and her name came out in a breath.

She waited patiently for him to open them on his own time; when he finally did he looked taken aback.

"Tate?"

"Are you real?"

She nodded enthusiastically, "I've been waiting for you."

She scooted closer to him and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her closer.

"Don't die okay?"

"What?" she asked, confused by his request.

He dared to take her face in his hand, brushing his thumb across the swell of her cheek, "You died every day in Hell."


End file.
